


Penne Lisce [Spanking Drabbles]

by cain_kakushi



Category: Haikyuu!!, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Gen, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual Spanking, Shouto is a Brat, Spanking, Todoroki Enji is trying, Utatake (if you squint)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27916417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cain_kakushi/pseuds/cain_kakushi
Summary: WARNING: this work contains non-consensual and non-sexual corporal punishment(spanking).A little collection of spanking drabbles that do not find home in a separate work. Multi-fandom, not always coherent, quick to share. Tags as I go.
Relationships: Dande | Leon & Hop & Kibana | Raihan, Nekomata Yasufumi & Yaku Morisuke, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor & Todoroki Shouto
Comments: 20
Kudos: 63





	1. Panic! at the Onsen [MHA - Todoroki Enji, Shouto]

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [Teadear](/users/teadear/), who threw the first rock on a brainstorming about Shouto getting a tattoo just to be rebellious of his father.
> 
> Did you know? As I'm publishing it's the 6th of December, Fuyumi's birthday!

_ Was it worth it? _

It was a question that often resurfaced in Shouto’s mind, especially after what some would call a  _ blatant act of misbehaviour _ . Most of the time, it was a yes.

And  _ was it worth it now _ ?

Of course it was.

His father’s dumbfounded expression was a delicacy that he craved greatly. If the thermal water wasn’t supposed to be hot already, Enji’s rage would have made it boil.

Shouto saw some of the guests hurriedly leave the pool or climb on the rocks in fear that the aforementioned scenario could become reality, and for a moment, his own stomach churned with dread at the faint embers that popped in his father’s red hair.

They stared at each other for long seconds, Shouto’s face kept in the most neutral stance he was capable of delivering. “Well? What’s the problem then?” He asked, unimpressed.

Enji could feel his hands tickle uncomfortably. If it wasn’t for the dozen pairs of eyes boring at the two of them, the fact that they were in water, or that they were already making a scene, maybe - maybe he would have brought Shouto over his knees right in that instant.

He weighed that option carefully, not that their dignity wasn’t out the window already.

“Shouto,” He said, the fakest chill in his voice, “it’s better if we take this conversation elsewhere.”

  
  


_ But was it really worth it? _

That question resurfaced clear as day as the first smarting blow came down on his bottom, his father’s hand as large and threatening as ever. Shouto sighed like it was a minor inconvenience; he wasn’t going to let his father have the satisfaction of hearing a  _ peep  _ coming out of him. The boy was sure that by not giving in, his father would’ve stopped on his own. 

“So? What’s this for, your reputation?” Shouto huffed, limp and bored on his father’s knees.

Enji kept the smacks coming on his son’s bare rear, where the corpus delicti laid in bright blue colours. It was on the underside of his left cheek: a tattoo, a _ heinous _ offense already, of…

Enji still couldn’t wrap his mind around it because of all things, _ it was All Might’s logo _ .

That was more than bad taste or a spontaneous, stupid decision. Shouto knew exactly what he was going for, sporting that  _ thing  _ at the thermal baths of the ryokan in which a great number of heroes were staying for the night.

And that was utter, pure, liquid humiliation.

“You’re underage.” The man growled under his breath, a particularly hard slap falling right on the tattoo, marking Shouto’s skin of a bright pink. “I’m fairly sure I didn’t sign any paper consenting to this madness, did I?”

The teenager dug his blunt nails in his father’s yukata; stifling his reactions was becoming difficult, but he wasn’t one to give up so quickly. Although Enji could not see him, he rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Who knows? It might be old age, since you remembered today's meeting but forgot about your daughter’s birthday.”

Enji’s hand froze mid-slap. “That’s not the point, and you know it. Fuyumi will celebrate with her colleagues.”

“Totally unexpected.”

“Shouto.” Enji sighed, not even upset - just  **done** . “We’re not going anywhere with that attitude of yours.”

The man rolled up his sleeve in a hurried motion before resuming the spanking. His broad hand caught and rippled Shouto’s softest muscles, going back and forth from a side to another. The pinkening skin quickly shifted to a darker shade, and the process managed to spank some of the stubbornness out of Shouto: the teenager panted, short of breath from trying so much to stifle the sounds coming from his throat. It was only then that Enji attempted to resume the scolding, hoping that his son would be inclined to listen with that incentive. 

“It could have gotten us kicked out,”

“A  _ tragedy _ .” Shouto huffed, sacrificing a perfectly good moment of peace just to deliver that snarky comment.

That small piece of backtalk was the last straw.

Enji raised a knee under Shouto’s body to shift his hips higher, the free hand pressed on his lower back to not let him slide off his lap. With his bottom upturned in that way, Enji had full access to the delicate undercurve of his rear: the slaps landed with resounding  _ smacks _ , one after the other, in a volley that didn’t slow down until Shouto audibly gasped for air.

Enji blocked his son’s hand from reaching back and pinned it on his smaller back, just above the hem of his open yukata. “You’ll erase it with a laser treatment the moment we’re out of here.” He said, pausing with his reddened hand hovering just above the crest of Shouto’s bottom.

“No I won’t-”

Enji raised an eyebrow at that, his wrist snapping back to make the palm of his hand connect with the warm skin. “You are in no position to negotiate.”

“No, I- I mean-” Shouto squirmed in that strong hold, his other arm trying to reach for something that his father didn’t quite see. “Stop for a second!”

“This behaviour, Shouto, was totally uncalled for.”

“It’s fake!” The teenager yelled.

The silence became deafening all of a sudden. Shouto could hear his heart drumming in his ears, the redness of shame and pain having turned his face in a glowing mess that he was glad his father could not see. The sting igniting his bottom, though, was probably the meanest; he was glad his father had stopped, and yet the pain wasn’t subsiding at all.

“Did you say something?” Enji asked, dropping the scalding hand at his side.

“I said it’s fake. The tattoo, it’s fake!” Shouto scrambled to get one of the still damp towels off the floor, but his father snatched it from his fingers the moment he got a hold of it.

Enji rubbed it unceremoniously on the tattoo, ignoring the drumming of Shouto’s feet on the floor.

His attention was completely stolen.

Getting it to fade away was hard but eventually, after a few profanities slipping from the lips of the teenager, a mess of colours transferred to the towel. It still left most of it on the skin, but it was undoubted proof of its temporality.

“See?!” Shouto snarled. He only got rewarded with a spank, and then another, and yet another - wait, wasn’t he supposed to stop?! “What?! It’s not real!” He protested, choked groans following shortly after.

“When did you get it?” Enji asked, his voice as cold and hard as stone.

“...I guess- it was two days ago? Wh-  _ ow- _ ”

“I’ll make sure this lesson lasts for longer, then.”


	2. Two plus two [Haikyuu!! - Hinata Shouyo, Ukai Keishin, Takeda Ittetsu]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haikyuu!! drabble -  
> Ukai and Takeda deal with an unfortunate rumor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **From Wikipedia,**   
>  _A **hataki (叩き)** is a type of household cleaning tool that originated in Japan. Consisting of durable cloth strips attached to a stick or pole, it is used for moving dust from surfaces onto the floor where it can be swept up or vacuumed.   
> This duster, made of a bamboo pole and cloth strips, is a fixture in every Japanese home._

It happened so fast that Hinata couldn't even process what was worse.

Ukai's death grip around his waist as he was spun around and locked to his side, held in place like one would hold a newspaper, was blood curling on its own. The fact that he barely reached the squeaky floor with his shoes, too, reminded the boy that if most of his weight was supported by the coach's left arm, it meant that his right one was free. And what could he do with his right hand, he could only imagine.

Hinata barely had time to babble incoherent apologies when a sickening sound cut through air -

and snapped on his uniform-clad bottom, the sting so intense that it managed to be _breathtaking._

What the hell was that?! The boy kicked in his coach's hold, hands searching for something to grasp but only finding cold emptiness in front of the counter. His fingers were almost touching a pack of mints, the only thing within reach, when the _s_ _ wish _ cracked again at the top of his thighs. 

"OW!" The boy howled this time, turning his head around to try and figure out what was happening. "H-hey! I didn't do anything!" Hinata tried to plead, slender legs kicking the cold air around them. As Ukai lifted his right hand, preparing for the next swat, the boy finally caught a glimpse of what he was using.

Surprisingly, it wasn't a weapon of mass destruction or some sort of iron bar.

It was somehow worse as long as it was wielded by Ukai.

It was the cursed duster, the bamboo stick with cloth tied to it, the innocuous looking thing that Ukai always had in hand - the _hataki._ Hinata and his teammates were threatened with it countless times (just as frequently as their brawls in or out of the shops happened), but… how?! How could that thing hurt so much?!

" _You didn't do anything?_ " The coach repeated in disbelief, voice short from a growl. He didn't have cigarettes in his lips but Hinata swore he saw a puff of smoke coming from his nostrils. "Spreading lies isn't exactly nothing, ah? It isn't, isn't it?"

"Wha-what lies are you talking abou-AH-" The duster fell again, mean and burning in a thick, straight stripe that Hinata could feel deep in his bones. 

The boy was convinced that he would be marked for eternity.

"Hinata-kun," Ukai asked in a venom-dripping sweetness, "what did you see this morning, when you entered the gym's storage?"

Hinata gulped when he felt the devil-stick patting on his bottom again, as if it was urging him to talk. **And fast.** "I- I mean- you and Takeda-sensei were there-"

"And what were we doing?"

"...I don't know? Standing? Spending time toge- OW!"

Ukai caned the boy in quick succession, landing three imaginary red stripes across his behind. "Is that so?"

"I-... I did not see you clearly!"

"So why did you tell everyone that we were _making out_?!"

Now that was a great question.

Hinata hadn't asked himself twice about it. It was natural, right? What was a couple doing in there? Judging from what he knew, Daichi and Suga often… kissed, to sugarcoat it, in that room. So, putting two and two together...

The boy squirmed in pain when another hit landed on the softest of his muscles. "... it's what everyone does!" He whined.

The shop turned silent for precious, peaceful moments, before the **thunder** cracked. "Everyone does _what_?" Another voice asked, sending chills down Hinata's already not-so-steady legs.

It was Takeda-sensei. The boy could see the teacher's reflection in a nearby mirror: he was standing near the door with his arms folded and his glasses _opaque_ , as if the buzzing lights of the shop couldn't even dare to show the world his furious eyes.

Hinata couldn't even answer, as another crack of that evil bamboo met his trembling bottom.

He was screwed already, but so very much more screwed when he spotted Takeda moving towards them. "Ukai-kun?" he sighed, waving his hand. "Could you fetch a hairbrush, please? I don't think that what you're using is suitable for a punishment."

"What?!" Hinata blurted out, cheeks flaring of an indignant red.

Ukai just shrugged and let the boy up on his feet again, squeezing his shoulder in warning. "Stay put. You have a long lecture ahead of you." He patted his back, the last bit of warm contact before he disappeared behind a shelf.

Not having to fear the bamboo anymore? Splendid. Not being squeezed against his coach? Wonderful. Being left alone to stare in his teacher's eyes?

Hinata suddenly wished Ukai was at his side again.

"I'm sorry." He sheepishly murmured, hands behind his back as he dipped in a half-bow. Though rubbing at his bottom was tempting, since it felt like literal hell, the thought of doing it as Takeda was giving him a stare-down was too much.

"You could have gotten us in trouble." The teacher patiently said.

Hinata looked at him with wet eyes. "But…!" He pouted, "But everyone knows you two are together already…!"

Something dropped with a loud bang from behind the shelves - something in Ukai's hands, judging from the timing.

A pink blush creeped from Takeda's neck up to his ears, but the teacher was quick to diffuse that statement. "We aren't-"

"And we weren't doing anything frisky!" The coach snarled from the other side of the shop, and another array of clattering sounds followed.

"Hinata-kun, it would be unprofessional." The teacher got in front of the boy to grab his hands, soothingly trying to make some of the tension go away. He made sure to look in his hazelnut eyes while speaking. "Such a rumor could harm our positions in the school. You shouldn't spread something like this."

This time, Hinata's eyes filled with real tears of guilt. "I don't- I didn't-" He stammered in panic, trying to man up and not let any drop roll -

But as Takeda's arms wrapped around his shoulders to hug him softly, the boy couldn't help but sob against his teacher's hold.

"Hinata-kun?" A hand came down to affectionately ruffle his ginger hair. "It's fine, nothing happened this time. You have to be mindful of the way you speak, though, that's why you're getting a spanking."

Hinata's heart clenched at those words, but as much as he didn't want to be punished, what was left to do? He couldn't even apologize properly! A spanking hurt, and hurt badly, but if that meant that they truly weren't mad at him…

The boy didn't even want to think about what could have gone wrong. He silently hiccuped in his teacher's arms, a squeamish feeling stopping at his throat when he heard Ukai's soft steps join them. Even with tear-filled eyes, he couldn't miss the moment when a wooden brush was handed from the coach to the teacher.

"The slate will be clean, I promise." Takeda reassured him again in the softest tone he could manage. "Can you tell me something first, before we begin?"

Hinata nodded and smeared his tears on the back of his sleeve, only for Ukai to sigh and rub a paper tissue under his drooping nose.

"Good boy," The teacher smiled, sending a twinge of uneasiness his way, "now, who was this _everyone_ you were talking about earlier?"


	3. Just Dessert [Haikyuu!! - Yaku Morisuke, Fukunaga Shoei]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nekomata-sensei's birthday - the perfect occasion for some sweet puns and a bit of Nekoma propaganda.
> 
> I only wanted to let my nine years old self laugh at 69 puns.

Nekoma functioned as a whole organism, in and out of the court, and for that organizing a surprise party wasn’t difficult: coordinated and fueled by the sheer admiration they had for their coach, all of them contributed to the mission. They moved in secrecy starting two weeks before just to make sure  _ everything _ would be on point. 

It wasn’t meant to be an emotional event. After all, trying to lure Nekomata-sensei in a surprise party had been a secret tradition that every third year student tried to succeed in… without results, usually, since their coach claimed to be “too old” for birthdays. As if the passing of time worked differently for him.

That particular breed of third year students, though, wasn’t going to surrender without trying.

Nekomata-sensei had been more than a coach. It couldn’t be explained with words, really, but that insignificant celebration  **was** important, because for once it’d be a moment for him and him only. Thirty seconds of pure, sheer appreciation that Nekomata couldn’t turn down with a smile and a wave of his hands.

  
  


Most of that neat little checklist was marked done: balloons, candles, paper cups, their gift - everything, but two things. Nekomata-sensei was one of them, but he was being dragged to the clubroom thanks to coach Naoi’s help. The last thing Yaku needed to mark was the cake.

When Lev came through the door with a paper box in hand, the whole team circled the table to inspect it. It was supposed to be something simple and not decorated, but Yaku could  _ feel  _ the disaster coming. As clumsy as Lev was, he expected for the cake to be smashed…

and it wasn’t.

It sat on the table perfectly neat, perfectly glazed.

Including the number 69, occupying the whole cake, written in jarring red against white cream.

Yaku went through three stages of grief in two whole seconds.

At first,  **confusion** . Why were they laughing? Why  _ 69 _ ? Who wrote it?! The directions were simple!  **Despair** kicked next, but it lasted really little in favor of  **anger** . Yaku didn’t even talk, but went straight to scanning his teammates. 

“ _ You two. _ ” The libero growled to the back of the room, where Kuroo and Kai were snickering.

The Captain shook his head, that usual shit-eating grin never leaving his face. “We weren’t in charge of the cake-” He quickly said, casual and _ laughing  _ as if someone’s stupid prank hadn’t just ruined their efforts.

Lev raised his hands in the air when he felt Yaku’s prickling gaze. “I swear it wasn’t me-!” And while it was hard to believe, since he was the one who retrieved it from the store, his senpai had to recognize that there was no way Lev would know Nekomata’s age.

Someone was still laughing.

Taketora was practically howling, tears at the sides of his eyes; Kenma, too, was bent in two and holding his stomach. Yaku looked at them with scorn, but another one of them had his gaze fixed on that couple.

It was Fukunaga, who blushed heavily as Kenma raised his head. As if he was happy to see him smile like that, to see that little grin behind his hair,

**as if it was his scheme from the start.** His goal.

And of course it would be. 

“Fukunaga.” The libero called, sending a chilling silence to the rest of the room.

The boy turned to look at him, cheeks still slightly pink. “Yes?”

“I know it was you.”

The messy-haired boy cocked his head to the side. “Me? What?”

How could he play dumb so easily? Yaku’s eyes narrowed to slits as he marched to him, slow and steadily, a predator ready to attack. “It was you who suggested that bakery.” He said, as cold and precise as a detective who just solved a case, “I just  **know** it was you.”

Mixed reactions blended in their teammates. Between the aftershocks of amusement and curiosity of how it would go, coupled with genuine  _ fear  _ of their fierce libero, that room was a mess of anticipation. The perfect timing for Fukunaga’s punchline.

He looked at the cake and shrugged. “I thought it would be  **nice** .”

Time stopped in a whirlwind of laughter. The only thing that moved - or rather, pounced - was Yaku, a blur of sheer rage that headbutted Fukunaga’s chest.

He didn’t even have time to fight him. “That’s Nekomata’s age-!” The messy haired boy huffed, lithe body being flung over the back of a chair by an inhuman being with inhuman strength. “That’s his actual ag-” 

That syllable got stuck in a sigh, shocked and embarrassed by the crack of Yaku’s hand. And in a paradox, time resumed as the room stilled.

“You shouldn’t have.” The libero said, the darkest aura coming off of him as he raised his hand again - to let it fall on Fukunaga’s bottom twice, thrice, fast and unrelenting, in a volley so sudden that the boy barely had time to brace himself against the chair. “You really shouldn’t have done it, Fukunaga.  _ You, shouldn't, have, done, it _ .” At each word, a resounding slap caught their little comedian’s sitspots.

The resentment of ten thousand souls rained on him. That tiny hand  _ stung  _ as if Yaku had borrowed the power of his ancestors. “They always write the age…!” Poor Fukunaga whimpered, head low to not meet anyone’s eyes.

“Ow, come on,” Kuroo sighed, “leave the boy alone-”

“Why?” The libero turned to him with a deadly smile. “Do you think that’s funny too? A 69 joke to a grown man? What do you have to say, Fukunaga?” He stopped to threateningly grab the rubber band of the boy’s track pants, “How funny is it?”

His eyes widened even more than usual. “...not?” Fukunaga tried, heart caught in his throat.

As much as Yaku wanted to  _ lecture  _ him more, they were stopped by the buzzing of his phone.

It was the signal: Nekomata had munched the bait.

* * *

The dark of the room, the warm light coming from the candles and highlighting every dip and crease of Nekomata’s skin, that slow and happy chanting that the coach could not defuse with a shake of his hand.

Yaku swore he saw a glittery edge in the coach’s gaze, but maybe it was only the reflection of his own wet eyes. Nobody would be able to tell.

“Make a wish!” Somebody yelled from the back, making Nekomata chuckle in that low, delicate manner of his.

“Done.” He said, and blew the candles as best as he could - most of them didn’t go out. “Naoi, come here. I have to borrow your lungs for this.”

It was cute, warm, familiar. That ritual passing of time even Nekomata had surrendered to for that day was a success. Maybe it was because he was tired of being pestered about his birthday every year? Yaku couldn’t tell and honestly, he couldn’t care less.

That smile was always priceless. 

“Thanks for the cake.” Nekomata said, grinning at the oldest students, 

“It’s  **nice** .” He winked.

* * *

“Fukunaga?”

The boy jolted, his cup almost spilling when he heard Yaku call his name. “...yes?”

“Here.” The third year student placed another two pieces of cake on his paper plate. “Take them. Sorry for the…”

“For the  _ backcake _ ?” Fukunaga suggested, looking at the extra pieces with a little joyful pull at his lips.

“... yes, uh. Sorry for that.”

“It’s fine,” he smiled, “it was my just dessert.”


	4. Worth working on [Pokemon SWSH - Raihan, Hop]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Gloria's victory at the Galar League. In this universe, Gloria and Victor both exist - but it is not important for the drabble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I think I wrote it in November of last year! I found it, edited it, and brought it here - it is not worth a whole fic, in my opinion. I hope you'll like it since I remember I had fun writing it 💙 I should really write more for Pokemon.

Another spank hit Hop fair and square, snapping against his bare skin as if it was a  _ Vine Whip _ \- and it could have been worse, considering that the hand belonged to a big, scary, lanky being whose mood changed like the weather.

Luck wasn’t in his favor: of all the people he could cross ways with, Raihan had to appear. The same Raihan who was two meters tall and liked to brawl with his Zweilous, the same Raihan who was Hammerlocke's gym leader, the same Raihan who toed the line between Leon's best friend and worst enemy and that, for strange circumstances lost in all the time spent together as kids, began treating Hop as a brother of his own.

A privilege that the boy would have gladly traded for a moment of peace.

Ever since both Leon and Hop lost to Gloria, it almost seemed like the world's next objective was babying them. Leon escaped the pity party by taking a hiatus together with his Charizard, which meant that at the moment he was probably lost in some wild den or in a fancy overseas city, alone with his next, secret objective that he would not tell anyone. After all, being dethroned from the position of champion after ten years called for a change of pace.

Hop was left  _ numb _ instead. Maybe he needed a change of pace too, but not in the form of Victor rapping at his door twice a day, grandpa trying to drown him in motivational quotes or his mother never wanting to leave his side as if he had become a toddler once again.

Dealing with a shattered dream hurt enough, and for that Hop wanted to be  **alone** . Alone from his family, his friends, and his pokemon too, for he had  _ disappointed  _ them.

For that reason, he had followed his brother’s example and packed his bag.

Without a plan, just walking alone to try and think, to fill the noisy silence with any kind of feedback, as if looking at his moonlit reflection in a lake would be enough to give that guy a name. As if not only his way was lost, but his identity too, almost like it had fled together with Leon.

It was charming to stand in the dark, letting the world willingly forget his name for once.

That is, until Raihan caught sight of him.

* * *

"O-ow- please-! This is stupid!" Hop sobbed, fists slamming on the grass under him in the hopes that a wild Onix would pop from underneath them and stop the spanking. He suddenly regretted leaving his pokemons in a locker at the station - if Rillaboom had all but perceived that something or someone was harming Hop, he would have left the pokeball unprompted just to jump at them.

But Hop had made sure to be alone, and that meant that there was no escaping from Raihan.

"Yes, this _ is  _ stupid." The gym leader scoffed before leaving two crisp handprints at the top of Hop's thighs. The boy wailed and writhed over his knees, nothing that Raihan couldn't contain by grabbing the back of his sweater and pressing down yet again. "Out at night alone, without pokemons with you, your Rotom Phone useless and dead in the Wild Area, and  _ to do what? _ "

“A walk.” The boy scoffed.

After that, the cracks of Raihan’s palm could be heard from the other side of the lake.

Hop might have died for embarrassment alone, but the sheer furnace that was his face concealed more than humiliation; it was the knowledge that Raihan was right, that it had been reckless of him to drop everything and go, that maybe being spanked was fitting for a crybaby like him. And the frustration of being found out as the dumb kid he was did not help.

There were some things that one could only express through anger, or mock anger, as Hop sobbed and kicked against Raihan's thigh. "Leave me alone! Nothing happened!"

"Yes, and thank the gods for that."

Apart from the Hoothoot cries and the soft rustling of wind, the world around them fell uncharacteristically silent. Hop hiccuped against the matted grass and waited - waited for Raihan to smack him again, to scold him, or maybe to hopefully slide his underwear and trousers on his bottom and send him home. 

So he waited and waited, and almost jumped when a gentle caress targeted his tense back.

"Wild pokemon sleep too, but the ones who do not sleep  **lurk** ." Raihan groaned, a hushed voice that had lost all of the strictness. "Even Bug Catchers know that. So, what was the idea? Falling into a den, maybe? Do you have a deathwish? Wait until I tell your brother, you won't be able to sit for a week."

Hop's honey-laced eyes were filled with tears as he shook his head. "Please don't tell Leon," The boy pleaded, "I already disappointed him enough, please, I just- I just wanted to be on my own!"

The caressing stopped. Hop could feel Raihan's other hand leave his thigh and hover in the air, but strangely enough, no spank came down. 

There was a contemplative pause. The boy expected another lecture, or a threat, or maybe-

"What in the bloody hell are you even talking about?!" The gym leader ungracefully blurted out.

"W-what do you mean? I am allowed to be on my own-"

"Not that! Damn, so you're really one and the same… You didn't disappoint anyone, Hopscotch. Is it still because you lost to Gloria? Is that why you're this edgy, walking your lonely road in the middle of nowhere?"

"This- I am not- it isn't-" Hop couldn't even decide where to begin, and when he realized that words smashed together were not enough, it took him some courage to finally say what he truly meant - "It’s because I'm useless! What am I supposed to do?!"

And if these words didn't pierce the quiet of the night, the following yelps of pain surely did.

Raihan resumed spanking in earnest, the slaps sounding even harsher after that moment of peace, but it wasn’t long until noise stopped concerning Hop. He became too spent to kick and in place of that, the boy hiccuped meaningless nonsense. Big salty drops rolled down his face, clearing something heavy off his chest, but past the point of numbing acceptance remained only pain. 

“I’m sorry-” He coughed, voice coming out in pieces for the swats that kept peppering his backside, “I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry-!”

“You shouldn’t have  **what** ?”

“... here alone…!” Hop had little strength to murmur.

The frown on Raihan’s face was now one of concern more than anything else. “Hop, do you really think you’re useless?” He followed every one of Hop’s little movements, from the way his spine deflated to the little, silent bob of his head. 

Clearly, hidden by the careless brat before him was the hollow left by Hop’s first big defeat, and this time it had nothing to do with the want to be champion. 

“Hopscotch?" Raihan affectionately called, grabbing his chin so that the boy could look at him. "Say something like that another time and I'm spanking you again.”

“But it’s true…! I didn’t achieve anything!” As warned, Raihan's menacing hand came down on the already red bottom, making Hop gasp in pain. 

“Reaching the semi-final of the Champion Cup is an achievement of its own.” The gym leader said, trying his best to ignore the boy’s whimpering, "What did you expect? Kids your age pack their bags, try out the adventure, and that's it. Not everyone is born to be a professional trainer."

At that, Hop stopped his lament.

It wasn't difficult to accept that competing professionally was not his thing. The thing that was most difficult was another. "Then?" Hop had his voice rough from crying, "Then what was I born for?"

Raihan's fingers brushed through Hop's unruly blue hair, reminding him just how much he resembled his brother. Insecurities ran through their blood alongside precious smiles and ridiculous poses, it seemed. "Kid, I can't answer that question. This is something you have to figure out by yourself. It's fine to feel empty, so go and try out new things. I know that you admire your brother, but he's a hopeless dumbass."

"He's not-!"

Raihan laughed, " _ He is _ , and you're not, so do yourself a favor and use that developed brain of yours to do something. I saw how much you tried to mess with strategy and moves during the tournament, that was cool."

"There's nothing cool-OW! Stop smacking me everytime I'm talking-!"

“Didn't I tell you, Hopscotch?  _ Say something like that again and I'm spanking you? _ This attitude of yours won’t get you anywhere. So now," A dangerously pointy smile appeared on his face, "say something positive about yourself. Come on." He cheerily said, delivering little pats to Hop's sitspots.

**That** was a threat.

Hop gulped. Of all the things he could think and for all the time he spent sulking, asking for something positive was like fishing for Dratini in a Magikarp pond. "I'm…" He started, at least to get Raihan's ominous energy out of the way, "I'm… I'm a good friend?"

"Wow, you couldn't be more bland."

"Hey! It's true!" He protested, "I love my friends and my pokemons-"

"Yeah, yeah, another one. Come on."

“I’m growing taller?”

“Really? That’s all you have to say about yourself?" Raihan sighed half-heartedly. 

He quickly redressed Hop, who cringed and hissed like a feral Zangoose, and didn't give him time to snap back: in a swift move, the boy was hoisted face down on his shoulder.

"Raihan, what-"

"It's far too late, I'm bringing you home before your mother freaks out." He said, his hand menacingly patting the back of Hop's thigh. "Think about your qualities, wonder boy. I want to hear them all by the time we're home."

"How many do you want to let me walk on my own?!"

The gym leader snorted. "Five, at least, to balance how mean you were to yourself. I'm the only one allowed to call you a useless child, remember?"

It was something that belonged to the past, to when the two of them still competed for Leon's attention. It brought a smile on Hop's face, upside down and tipsy from the blood rushing through his head.

If one day he could get Raihan's or Leon's strength, he thought, then he'd be set for life.

Maybe, that was an objective worth working on.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3 if you want to leave any kind of feedback, it'd make my day.  
> Xoxoxo,  
> Cain


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